Grand Staff
by shadocoon
Summary: "When music on two staves is joined by a brace, or is intended to be played at once by a single performer Grand Staff is created." This will be a collection of short and mostly abstract SoMa drabbles as I attempt to better understand the bond that exists between the two. Each piece will be named after and loosely connected to music terminology.
1. Pianissimo

"When music on two staves is joined by a brace, or is intended to be played at once by a single performer Grand Staff is created."

**Pianissimo **_coming from the term that means "very softly"_

It is during those close, quiet moments that he can most hear the music. It's not always the same song, not always one he has heard before. Practiced fingers come alive against the warmth of her back. The movements begin languidly, the pads of his fingers pressing down lightly, barely keeping up with the symphony in his head. _Forte._ The volume increases. He looks down at her through eyes half-shut. The side of her face is against his chest, radiating heat and comfort. _Staccato. _His fingers barely touch down not, bouncing deftly off of ivory skin. _Allegro_. Faster now. He is becoming lost. In the music, in her. He is startled by green eyes staring into his own. He stops.

"Did I wake you?"

She shakes her head slowly, barely moving at all.

"Keep going," she mumbles into him.

He feels slightly guilty. He watches as she awkwardly gropes behind herself. Her slender hand finds his and grasps it lightly. _Play._ It is not a questions, and it doesn't take him long to once again find the notes. _Andante. _He slows, taking on a more leisurely pace. _Fortissimo. _Increased pressure accompanies the new tempo as his fingers travel along her spine and across her shoulder blades.

He begins to hum along despite himself. He's not sure if it's a piece he's played before or one that's never existed. An appreciative sounds comes from her, and he feels the small, sweet smile against him. _Coda. _He can no longer keep up, and her now steady breathing is only pulling him closer to sleep. The previously busy fingers come to a rest with no protest this time. And with her comfortable weight and warmth against him, he finally surrenders. _Fine._


	2. Crescendo

**AN: **The second installment of Grand Staff. It's not my favorite, but this is more of an experiment.

**Crescendo **_coming from the term that means "gradually increase"**  
**_

They started off as partners. Friendship would follow. As their lives increased in speed and volume their relationship would follow. Souls further entwining, hearts beating in time. Neither can remember the first time they held hands. Nor can they remember the reason why. They don't keep count of how many times they've saved each other. From an enemy or from failing yet another test. They remember the first time they slept together. They were both fully clothed, not touching. Uncomfortable at first, they eased into the comfort and warmth that could keep the demons away.

There have been no revelations or epiphanies. They have merely traveled a natural course. They are more. More than peers or friends. More than man and woman or weapon and Meister. He is her ground and she is his sky, his sanity. Forever intertwined and coexisting as small changes build upon one another. Gradually and slowly building in volume and amounting to something more than they were before.


	3. Forte

**Forte **_coming from the term that means "loudly"_

They're arguing again. It barely even matters what it's about this time. Words fly hot and sharp, some making impact and others being swatted away, turned back, ignored. Is it about dinner this time? She doesn't know. But for her it is about fear. Fear of losing him, of relying on him. Fear of not being good enough and of being abandoned.

She barely hears what either of them is saying over the symphony of insecurity that rages within her. His expression is hard to read through the haze of furious, frightened tears that threaten to spill onto reddened cheeks. She has time to wonder what he is yelling about. It could be an overflowed bath or dirty laundry, but the fights are never truly about that. It is always the same for both of them. Different but the same.

They're both scared. Scared of their personal demons, of losing each other, scared of the responsibilities that they now carry. They are scared of the fact that they're only teenagers, children, and so much rests on their slender shoulders. At least that's what she's scared of. For him it could really be about that test she had warned him to study for. But there's something in his eyes, something about the quiver in his voice that tells her it's more, tells her she's not alone. And that's the only true comfort isn't it? The thought that she is not alone in her fear, the thought that he shares it with her. It binds them together. Even stronger than the trust they already share. It is constricting, suffocating, but it pulls him closer still. And maybe that's precisely why she now pushes him away. Hurting herself as well with each jabbed finder and angered word.

She is hurting herself more than she is hurting him because she is not the only one who doesn't want to fight, and she is not the only one who can find no other way to let out the darkness that festers and consumes if left unchecked. She is not the only one who wants to instead use words to soothe and whisper and hands to hold and caress. She is not the only one who will go to bed that night with a cold and hollow feeling in her chest. A shared feeling that they will both ignore the next day as they awkwardly apologize for the laundry. Or the test. Or the dinner. Or the bath.


	4. Maestoso

**Maestoso **_coming from the term that means "majestically" "or dignified."_

Sometimes she looks at him and can't believe how she got so lucky. All mane of white and sharp teeth, wild red eyes and practiced hands. The fact that he is hers, as a friend, as a weapon, as a lover, is often too much. The way his soul resonates with hers is only rivaled by the way she fits against him or the way their heartbeats match. On certain nights they remind each other of how he is her knight and she his queen. In a whisper that is no more than a breath her name passes his lips and sends chills down her spine.

He exudes a certain dignity and poise that she thinks she could not hope to possess. Fingers that hold and caress. Palms that radiate a warmth she can find nowhere else. Sometimes it feels almost wrong to keep him to herself. She is his and he is hers so completely though that there is no room for doubt and no room for anyone else in their minds. It is fate really. She, the gazelle, and he, the lion locked in an age-old dance that has only one known end. But as his scar brushes against soft skin and those same strong fingers grasp at disturbed bed sheets she feels consumed only by an intense comfort that chases away the worries and the dark. A comfort that is her kingdom as she drifts to the realm of sleep, their two bodies intertwined.

And it is only when she wakes up that the lion's grin is replaced by the boyish innocence that only visits in his sleep. An innocence lost long before. She can then brush the hair from his forehead and feel his contentment as he awakens to the only one who can share this peace in the early morning.


End file.
